The Easter holidays are in full flow and my patience has hopped on a plane and left for Bermuda. Which under the current lockdown conditions, I feel, is totally unfair, as I can’t follow.
It’s 11am, and the bouncy one is insisting I check his room because he thinks it’s haunted. I’m not sure if the cloaked one still lives here. Mini Napoleon doesn’t understand why he can’t have all the crisps and I’ve stopped three fights and am now in the cupboard, crying and looking for Gin.
Writing with young children is hard enough on a normal day. But writing with children that are all on holiday, all completely different and all wanting my attention, all the time, is the thing that hell is made of.
Despite my general apathy right now, I love being a mum. It’s brought me more love than I ever felt possible, and it’s…
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